Only Half Elven
by Lost19
Summary: Arwen runs away after a misunderstanding with Elladan, and is rescued from an Orc horde by an Elf from the mountains. The Elf unravels her prejudice against Men, and shows her that sometimes reading the book before judging it can save a whole world. AU explanation to why Arwen was willing to give her heart to Aragorn.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot.**

 **Author's Note: Let's just say that Arwen should be around 16 in human years, I cannot do Elven ones.**

 **This started out as a 250-300 word prompt about a character that I haven't written about and getting lost. It ended up as this:**

She urged her mare forward through the trees, not minding the way that the birds stopped singing when they passed. There was so much anger pent up inside of her, and she needed to let it all out. Her fists were clenched around the reins, and her legs were squeezing her mare faster and faster and faster. Why had he not kept his rude mouth shut? This had been the last time that she would take insults from him—no more. The mare underneath her followed the commands that she gave, but she knew that the mare did not like to disobey its master. Gaeralagos was her brother's horse, yet still was reluctant to bear her against her brother's wishes. Her whole family knew how adventurous she was—she often got in to a great amount of trouble wherever she went, no matter if it was serious or not. That was why most—if not all—of the horses in Imladris were for forbidden to carry her without their master's consent. All of them had obeyed. Save Gaeralagos, it seemed. Maybe the mare had sensed the elleth's mood and taken pity on her.

Arwen was furious with her brother. Not the brother who's horse she was riding; the other one. Somewhere inside of her, she knew that he had been joking, or something of that nature, but she still could not control her anger. He had no right—no right at all!—to say what he had said. For an Elf of his age, he should have realized that a younger one like her would take his words seriously, no matter if he had meant them or not. The light was fading, shadows trailing behind her as she pushed the mare faster towards the loom of the mountains. She would not be going back home for a while, if she could help it. There was no way that she could face her family any time soon—especially with the way she had stormed out into the gardens after that extremely long lecture from her father and Lord Glorfindel. She could not even remember what the lecture had been about…perhaps about throwing inside. There was no apology in her heart for that, Elladan deserved every text that had been thrown at him. Mayhap that was it then, they could have been telling her not to damage ancient books.

Whatever the case, it had not been a very good idea to ruin her mother's favorite clump of flowers afterwards. Now she was stuck on a hesitant horse with a pack strapped behind her on the saddle and a bow and quiver slung across her back. She supposed that she would ride to Lórien, and hoped that she would have enough food to last the journey. Thus her first though of veering around and returning to Imladris was born. She did not think that she had enough food to last the month or so that it would take her to get there—she had counted yesterday—and her hunting skills were not ones to brag about. With a sigh, she shoved her worries down and continued riding. If she turned back, she could never face the embarrassment, nor the teasing, nor the fact of seeing her brother quite so soon. She also knew that she would have to stop soon. It was darkening greatly and Gaeralagos was tiring. The mare had shown great strength; she had galloped on for hours without so much as a snort with the young elleth on her back. In a few minutes, Arwen finally pulled her foaming mare into a halt and slid gently off her back. With a delicate hand, she stripped Gaeralagos of her saddle, saying softly, "Please forgive me, friend. I was angry and paying no heed to your hardships. I was selfish, and only thought of myself." The mare only lowered her head so that her muzzle grazed the ground. It had been three days since they had left, and both of them were feeling the speed that they had departed with. Arwen hoped that Gaeralagos would not be angry with her, for she still wished for a horse on her journey.

The elleth looked around her, unsure of where to lay down. She had forgotten to bring a bedroll, or anything of the sort. The nights before, she had found a semi-comfortable patch of grass on which to rest. This time, she propped herself up against a tree and pulled an apple out of her pack, then dropped the saddle down next to her. She did not bother to tie her mare up, for she knew that Gaeralagos would not leave her, no matter how much the horse's heart ached to return to her master. Soon her apple was finished, and she lay her head against the trunk behind her. Tomorrow they would continue on towards their destination, whether they liked it or not.

Underneath the moon, she again cursed her brother for getting her into this mess. Why could he have not simply stopped speaking before he said that thing again? It hurt her to think about it, for she knew that it was not true, and that he was insulting her harshly. Before she knew it, tears were brimming in her eyes, and she had to swallow roughly to keep them from falling. She tried to keep her mind from drifting back to their conversation, but as usual, she failed.

 _She had been climbing a tree, trying to impress her brothers as they watched, but she had missed a branch and fallen, and now they were smiling softly at her. "Arwen, little one, you should not try to climb that high, not yet."_

 _"Why not?" She had pouted, confusion evident on her face._

 _"You could fall, sister. Like now, but worse. We would never forgive ourselves if you were hurt," Elladan spoke._

 _She gritted her teeth and looked down at the ground. "But all of the others can climb almost—if not—perfectly. Even the elflings can. Why can I not?"_

 _Her brothers exchanged a glance, and with a slightly mischievous grin that made Arwen's heart sink, Elladan told her his favorite insult. "You are not as Elvish as they are, little sister. You have Edain blood, and they do not. It makes you the tiniest bit less graceful than they."_

 _She had chased him into the library, where she had assumed that he thought Erestor would help him out, and thrown everything that she could find at him. The only problem had been the ruckus that they had caused, and Lord Glorfindel had to interrupt his conversation with Erestor in a quiet corner to come check on what all the commotion was about._

The tears were falling by then, trickling down her face. She knew that she was an Elf, and she was proud of it. Mortals were unwise and…and they did not seem to have time. They rushed every little thing, and got angry so easily. Men were weak and inferior, the Eldar were strong and superior. As she lost most of her awareness, she repeated to herself, _She was immortal. She was an Elf._


	2. Chapter 2

_"And here I am King and whether you will it or will it not my doom is law." —Turgon_

 **Author's Note: As said in chapter one, Arwen is adventurous and gets distracted easily. She has been taught about orcs, she was just not paying attention.**

 **Challenge: Whoever can figure out who this mysterious character is will get a chapter dedication (and a free autograph by said character)! Tiny hint: AU.**

She woke up with a jolt, hearing a scream shatter through the stillness around her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust the to darkness of the dawn, and when they did, the sight terrified her. Gaeralagos was spread out of the ground, blood pumping from her neck; and one of her legs was bent at an angle that it absolutely was not supposed to be. There was a… _creature_ bent over her, a malicious grin on its face. Arwen froze, her eyes wide. What was she going to do? She prayed with all of her might that the creature would not notice her, but apparently the Valar were not paying attention to her. The _thing_ turned its head and fixed its horrible eyes onto her. With a gasp, the elleth scrambled through her belongings to pull out her bow and quiver. However, before she could pull them into position, the creature was stalking towards her. Her shaking hands dropped the weapon without consent and her lip started to tremble. In harsh Sindarin, the creature said, "Such a pretty thing," and grinned at her. It called out something in what Arwen thought to be the Black Speech, and six more of the creatures appeared from the left. "It looks like we'll have some sport today," it spoke again in Sindarin, and all of the creatures laughed with a terrible grinding sound.

Arwen pressed her back against the tree, pulling her legs closer to her and gathering her belongings. Here was the second time in which she thought about turning around and going home—and she would have, if she could. "S–stay away from me!" She squeaked, trying her best to summon courage up from anywhere inside of her. There was none that she could find, all of seemed to have left her. The creatures cackled again, and drew closer still. With one last try, Arwen picked up her bow and held it in front of her, her hands shaking like leaves in the wind. "Y–you c–can't! I–I'll…" she trailed off, not being able to think of anything in her panicked state. The first creature reached her and smacked the bow out of her pale fingers. "People will come looking for me," she choked out.

"That should not be a problem," the creature mocked. "You will be long dead before they reach you." It reached up a hand and laid it on her cheek. She jerked her head back into the tree, but it still ran its claws gently over her face and down her neck, stopping at her collar. Then it traced her collarbone, and she shivered, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "We will be very—"

The creature broke off and pulled its hand away as the sound of metal sliding through flesh came from behind it. Arwen could not see what it was, but she figured it out as the creature fell over onto her, an arrow protruding from the back of its head. The creatures were engaged with someone—or something, she could not quite see yet—and although they had numbers, they were losing. In less than a minute, all seven of them were dead, and the weight was soon lifted off of Arwen. This mysterious being wore a dark cloak and its face was hooded from her sight. With her heart running a marathon, she asked, trembling, "Who are you?"

It pulled its hood down, and knelt next to her. "That's up to you," he said, smiling gently. "I have no name, not anymore." His eyes were dark, and his hair was darker still. He had ears that ended in a point, and his face held enough beauty for Arwen to know that he was one of the Eldar.

She stared at him for a moment before relaxing slightly. He was probably not going to hurt her. He had killed those creatures, surely he was not here to hurt her? Softly, she asked him, "What were those things?"

With confusion on his face, he replied with another question, "You do not know?" When she shook her head, he blinked and told her, "They are _yrch_. Surely you have heard of them?" She shook her head again, bemused by the expression of exclamation on his features. He paused and seemed to ponder something for a moment, before gazing over her and asking, "Are you harmed?" Again she shook she head. Leaves rustled as he stood up, and Arwen noticed red liquid covering his left forearm and trickling down both sides of his face. However, she did not say anything to him on the matter, afraid of angering him. "Come," he motioned, and began to walk away. She watched him pick up a sword—which she assumed was his—and sheathe it somewhere underneath his cloak. The strange Elf turned back to her when she didn't follow, "Are you going to wait for something else to come make fun with you? Or will you follow me?"

Quickly, she picked herself up off of the ground and gathered her things together. With a sigh of resentment, the Elf strode back up to her and picked up her pack throwing it over his shoulder. He gave her an exasperated sigh and motioned forwards. Arwen followed with her bow and quiver, taking care not to tread on any of the _yrch_. "Where are we going?" She was gaining more of the courage that had fled her faster than she would have thought possible. Briefly, she wondered if there was something the matter with her. "And who are you? I cannot simply call you an 'it' all of the time."

Without even a glance back at her, he asserted, "We are making for my home, young one. I have already told you what to call me."

"Alright," she declared, remembering what he had told her the first time she asked. "I name you _Durdirith_."

An abrupt laugh came from Durdirith. "Dark guard?"

Arwen felt her cheeks go warm, and she muttered, "You saved my life and your face is haunted."

She thought that he might have stumbled slightly when she spoke, but if he had, then he had also recovered so quickly that she was debating whether he actually had or not. After a few moments, he called back to her, "And what would your name be, young one?"

"Arwen," she told him. "Daughter of Lord Elrond of Imladris."

He did pause at that, and turned around to face her. "So you are one of the _peredhil_ , then? Have you figured out which path you will choose yet?"

"Excuse me?" She bristled.

With another exasperated sigh, he turned around, repeated, "Have you chosen yet? Whether to be mortal or immortal?"

"What are you talking about?"

Durdirith continued walking. "Should I have guessed? You have not known what orcs are, and now you do not know the choice the Valar have granted the half-elven with? What has your father been teaching you?"

"Do not speak of my father that way!" She hissed. "Of course I know of their choice! But I do not bear any mortal blood."

The grass crunched under his feet as Durdirith spun around to face her. "If you are truly the daughter of Elrond, then you would bear the blood of Beren Erchamion in your veins."

Arwen froze. "No, I do not," she whispered. She could not, could she?

Silence stretched in the gap between the two of them before Durdirith beckoned her foreword. Sluggishly, Arwen complied. To her surprise, the other Elf did not begin to move again, but simply crouched down in front of her. Taking a finger and planting it in the dirt, he drew a series of lines. When he was finished, he pointed to the line closes at to her and said, "This is you." His finger moved up one line. "This is your father." Another. "This is your grandmother, Elwing." Another. "This is your great-grandfather, Dior." Another. "This is your great-great-grandfather, Beren the Mortal." His finger went back down to the third line. "Your grandfather, Eärendil." Up another. "Your great-grandfather, Tuor of Gondolin." With an aggravated expression, he concluded, "You are part Edain, Arwen."


	3. Chapter 3

_"Thou shalt lead and I will follow." —Fingolfin_

 **BIG NEWS: I understand this is an extreme spoiler, but I can't help myself. ROWAELIN IS OFFICIALLY CANON!**

 **A** **uthor's Note: I am so, so sorry about the late update! I meant to update two days ago, but my internet wasn't working and then the server went down or something like that. I apologize so much, I knew I said I would update every day!**

 **On a happier note, we have a winner! Someone has—after much trial and tribulation—figured out who Durdirith is! I need to remember to get to autograph…**

 **You can still guess if you like, a dedication shall be in order for anyone who gets it right!**

 **Here's chapter three, dedicated to Masked Man 2:**

She exclaimed, "How do I know that you are not lying?"

"Why would I lie about such a thing? It does not matter to me whether you are part mortal or not," he raised a left eyebrow. "Although I am guessing that you have chosen immortality?"

Arwen huffed, glaring at him. "I do not know how to choose, but I am sure that if I did, I would indeed choose to stay immortal. Who would want to be one of the Edain?" She stalked off, leaving Durdirith crouching above a series of lines in the dirt. How could he say such things? What she truly part Edain? With a determined grunt, she decided that she was ask her father when she returned to Imladris—whenever that would be. No matter how confused she was, no matter if Elladan had simply been comforting her and telling the truth, she would not go back just yet. And besides all of that, she was rather curious about this strange Elf that she had encountered.

Durdirith caught up to her quickly. With a plaintive stare fixed onto the ground, he admitted softly, "I once did not think much of mortals at one time. I detested them, and thought them lesser and more incapable than those of the Firstborn. That is where I went wrong, and where you go as well. Just because the Dwarves and the Men came after us does not mean that they have less of a right to this world as we do."

"I am not saying that they have no claim to the earth," Arwen snarked. "Just that they do not have the skills or the rights of the Eldar. They ruin and polite the land, and their customs are harsh and terrible." She spared a glance at Durdirith, anger sparking in her chest. "How would you know, anyway? From what I can tell, you are just a wandering Elf, knowing nothing of the world. Do you even have a family? Did you ever?" It was a low blow, and she knew it, but she did not bother to take back her questions.

His jaw clenched, and he was silent for a moment. When he did not answer, she turned back to face forwards. The moment that she did, however, she was being slammed into the ground. She gasped as she hit the hard rocks and skidded a few feet. "You will not speak of my family, and I will not speak of yours," Durdirith hissed, his eyes blazing. There was a strange glint in them, and she was absolutely terrified by what might lay inside. For the first time, she wondered if maybe he was not one of the good Elves, perhaps one of the Dark ones. She remembered Maeglin of Gondolin and his father Eöl from her studies, and fear gripped her heart tighter. As she was deep in her thoughts, she had not noticed Durdirith—although maybe the last part of his name did not suit him so well—move, but when she looked up, his eyes were closed and his fingers were locked around his nose. He wore a peculiar expression, to say the least.

When he opened his eyes, he kept his nose plugged, and Arwen realized that he was taking deep breaths. For some odd reason, this calmed her, and her panic—only half of it—left her system. Durdirith glared at the ground as he spoke softly, "My apologies. I did not mean to…" he trailed off before continuing, "hurt you." Here he sighed. "Family is a tough subject for me. No matter what they did, what _we did_ , I will always care for them above all others." His voice was rough, and she could hear the mourning and loss in it. To her ears, it slightly resembled the hint that always laid under the world of Lord Glorfindel, whether he meant them to or not. Durdirith took a step towards her, fingers still on his nose, and she instantly scooted backwards. He gritted his teeth and looked down. "Forgive me. I truly did not mean…" She did not answer, and he probed, "Arwen?"

Angrily, she answered him, "If I cannot call you by your name, then you cannot call me by mine."

"Then what would you have me call you?"

"Choose yourself," she taunted.

Dryly, he countered, "Undómiel." Her head shot up to stare directly at him, astonished. How did he…? "Are you going to come?" He questioned her. "Or will you wait here for another feel creature to come and find you?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from her and began walking in the direction that the two of them had been going before. Gingerly Arwen peeled herself from the rock, hesitant of following, but knowing only death awaited her if she did not.

They went on, Arwen trailing farther behind than necessary, unwilling to get any closer because of the incident. Around noon, they halted, Durdirith dug through Arwen's pack—much to her displeasure—and brought out two apples. "This seems to be most of your food," he commented, tossing her one of the ripe green fruits. "Did you plan on eating apples your entire journey?"

She did not deign to answer, instead settling herself down on a stump. Pondering over where the rest of the tree had gone, she realized that she very much wanted to go home. It had only been a few days, but she missed the easy, relaxing place that Imladris had been. With that said, it was not that she was not enjoying her time in the wild—although all of the company she had had were less than satisfactory—for it was so much more peaceful than the busy bustling that she was used to.

"Where were you headed, and why were you alone?" Durdirith inquired, biting into the apple.

She herself sunk her teeth into the red skin of her own apple before answering partially, "Lothlórien."

The silence stretched out, awkward to her senses. The other Elf did not try to move towards her, and she did not try to move towards him. Hopefully, her time with Durdirith would be shortened and he would lend her the supplies that she needed to find her way home.


	4. Chapter 4

_"There is one true king in this room— there always has been. And he is not sitting on that throne. There is a queen in the north, and she has already beaten you once. She will beat you again. And again. Because what she represents, and what your son represents, is what you fear most: hope. You cannot steal it, no matter how many you rip from their homes and enslave. And you cannot break it, no matter how many you murder." —(Captain) Chaol Westfall_

 **Author's Note: Hey, I'm so sorry that this is so late! I've been really busy and then (sorry) forgot about you guys and had a Star Wars marathon instead. There's a giant hint to who Durdirith is in this chapter, if you can tell! For another chance at a dedication, find the two Star Wars quotes that I accidentally inserted in there…I had to change them in the end, to make it fit the story. Thanks for all of your support! (If you find any errors, please tell me, this chapter was rather rushed.) As a bonus for being patient for me to update, if you can't figure out who that dang Elf is at the end of the chapter, I'll let you ask one question about him that I'll answer truthfully.**

 **Also, sorry to any Arwen fans out there…she gets even more dense.**

 **PS: Sorry if I haven't answer your reviews! I promise I'll try really hard to get all of this chapter's ones!**

She snuck a glance at Durdirith, and wondered what he was thinking. His hood had been pulled back up, so she could not read his face. Not that that would help, anyway. There had been virtually no time when she could read his face—even when he had been angry, it was still passive and unreadable. For a second, she allowed herself to think that someday she might be able to do that, like him. When she was angry or sad or joyful her emotions splattered all over, making themselves known. A great advantage came from the talent of not expressing what went on inside when it was not needed. She recalled that first moment when she had seen his face and conceded that he had, _once_ , shown her something. The haunted look that he had worn.

The half-eaten apple in her hands seemed to grow heavier as she ate it. They had stopped again, night had fallen, the shadows draping over the two Elves. Durdirith had told her that they would reach his home the next day—and that was all that either of them had said to each other since the "fight" that they had. She knew that she had stepped over the line when she called him out, telling him that he had no family. If someone had said that to her…she bet that she would have done more than that. Her family was everything to her. Should his not be everything to him?

"I apologize," she spoke, rotating her apple in her hands. "It was wrong of me to say those things."

Durdirith did not answer her from where he leaned against a wall of rock. Instead, he ran the nail of his left forefinger over his own apple. His head was tilted slightly to the right, and again, she wondered what was going on inside that mind of his. After a few grueling moments of silence, he spoke, "A long time ago, in a place far, far away…" The Elf paused his voice and his finger to turn the fruit over in his hand. "I met a mortal woman. At first, I scorned her and her people." Arwen watched his hands intently, eyeing the way that they gently caressed the apple. For a second she—but then she shoved the thought down her throat. A crunching sound emitted from the apple as he sunk a nail under its skin. "She proved me wrong." He pulled off his hood, and Arwen was surprised to see that there was a true emotion expressed on his face. Anger—and sorrow—crushed his features, making him look every inch of what she was afraid that she would see. It was only there for a second or two, until he schooled his features back into a neutral expression.

When he did not continue, Arwen prodded softly, "What did she do?"

"Kept her people alive," he whispered, so quietly that only Elven ears could hear. "For seven days straight, with no aid." The apple shifted from one hand to other other, and she kept her eyes sealed to it. "We came at the end of those seven days, and liberated her encampment. She…was unlike any mortal that I had seen before. Not only because she was courageous enough to lead every single one of those people throughout that entire siege; but because she was female as well. There were so many prejudices against women in their culture, and yet she surpassed them all. She did not bother with those who thought her not worthy—she just ignored them and kept pushing forwards." Durdirith met her eyes in the darkness. "She changed the way I thought about them all, and the way I saw life as a whole."

Silence covered the area, Arwen rolling her tongue around in her mouth as her eyes still gazed at the apple that the ellon held in his hand. Barely more than breath, she asked, "What was her name?"

"I would rather not speak it, lest she come and haunt my name," he breathed, arching his neck so his face tilted upward.

Since she had already crossed the line once, Arwen decided that it would not hurt to try again, in a more passive way. "Did you love her?"

With his voice a step towards the eerie side, he answered her, "Maybe I could have, if she had stayed. Maybe if I had been mortal, or if she had been immortal." He flipped the apple again, not bothering to glance at it when he caught it. "But as it was, no. All that is left of her is a mere memory now."

"What does it all have to do with me?"

He had the nerve to laugh. "Mortals are not to be underestimated. I do not believe that an Elf could have held a village together for that long, no matter their strength."

"My father could," she protested. "You have no right to say that!"

"It is my personal opinion, youngling, I did not say that it was true. And as I have never met your father before, I would not know." That haughty tone joined with his voice again, and Arwen felt her anger curling up inside of her once more.

Instead of speaking to him, she finally tore her eyes away from his apple—not missing the way he tilted it back and sunk his nails into it like they were claws. She bit off a chunk of her own apple and chewed it thoughtfully. Suddenly, she exclaimed, "I do not want to be mortal!"

"No one does. Not even mortals themselves do." He chuckled softly, "Unless you are a dwarf, perhaps." It took everything in her not to laugh. She was supposed to be mad with him, not having a fun camping trip.

"Am I…" she almost stopped, her stomach clenching up. With a deep breath, she started over again, "Am I…really mortal?"

"You're Elven. Check your ears."

Furious blinking met his statement, and she ground out, "I know _that_. Am I part mortal? At all? Really?"

"If you are truly the daughter of Elrond Peredhel, then you are."

"Per…" she trailed off, swallowing a large chunk. "Peredhel? That… If it's true, then—everything would change! For me, anyway."

"You can't stop change any more than you can stop the sun from setting." Durdirith twisted one side of his lips upward.

"I just…I hope no one thinks lesser of me."


	5. Chapter 5

" _Even if there was another scent entwined with hers. Staggeringly powerful and ancient and—male. Interesting._ " —Aedion Ashryver's thought on his cousin's smell

 **Author's Note: Hi…there. Don't kill me! I know this is an entire week late but I have been really busy (mostly). Band, band, football, band, Spanish, essays, band, sleep, band, good, band, band and mostly band. I really should've had this up earlier today and it probably looks like a piece of crap but I can't really help it. I've been making a fool of myself tonight because of my tiredness (it's around one, erg) and I feel like I'm drunk. Thanks for that, friends… But anyways, I did have two people figure out who Durdirith was. I'll get those dedications out as soon as possible. This chapter just has to be dedicated to the amazing people on Legends of Middle-Earth. They brighten up my day and make me forget about life (my poor Emglish essay hasn't even been started and it's due tomorrow, thanks guys…) Truly, they are one of the best parts of my day, and I'm extremely thankful for every single one of them. Oh, hell, I'm rambling. But I do need to thank some awesome people. Thank you Maureen for being there to obsess over Elves with me and get almost blown up inside of garbage cans for me (and all that random insanity). Thank you chicochisp for brightening my day and always being there when I need someone to talk to (you're still my #1 Doctor). Thank you Karlie Keller for all the fun and, I don't even know…getting eaten by a velociraptor? Thank you Frios for being an awesome alliance partner. Thank you Mornie for sticking with me and dying for me in a cave of spiders. Thank you Rarity for not calling me out on my insaneness tonight and being insane along with me (and also thanks for the boyfriend problems!) None of them will probably ever see this (that would be rather creepy if they did, stalkers…) but I just wanted my readers to know that if they're ever feeling down, LoM is definitely the place to go. This is a hell of a long author's note, sorry. Here's the chapter:**

She was surprised when he told her, "No one would think lesser of you because of your bloodline. If I were you, I would be proud of it." Durdirith tilted his head—like he always did, to betray his curiosity. "Did you not know that your father was one of the peredhil?"

The juice from her apple ran down her chin. "I have heard the name said in the halls, I did not realize that they referred to him. Or my brothers and I, considering." Arwen raised a hand and wiped at her chin, wincing as it spread down her arm. "No one ever told me directly about any of this; I guess that they just assumed that I knew." Her breath stopped flowing when she realized—"My uncle, then. That was how he died, wasn't it? He chose to become mortal instead." There was a short pause of silence in which Arwen realized that her breath couldn't have stopped, because then she would not have been able to talk.

With a grin, Durdirith said smoothly, "Sure."

At least he did not know everything. She took another bite of her apple, not bothering to wipe away the juice this time—they were in the wild, after all. There was no one to see her except for Durdirith, and she doubted that he would care. There was an itch on her elbow, and she rolled up her sleeve to get at it. Never would she say that it was completely comfortable to stay out here, just that it was pleasant and quiet.

When she finished her apple, she shifted around to find a comfortable position to sleep in. "When we will get to wherever we are going?"

"Tomorrow," answer Durdirith.

"I know," she sighed, "but how long into the day?"

"Just before noon, mayhap."

* * *

This time, there was no sudden wakefulness. She could not tell at what time she became more aware, or when she had not been. Rubbing her nose, she looked over at Durdirith, who was—to her extreme displeasure—again rummaging through her pack. With headed cheeks, she stood up and stormed over to him, yanking it away. "What do you think you are doing? Those are my personal belongings!"

"I was checking to see if you had anything useful—besides apples," he explained dryly. In his left hand he held an apple, and in his right there was a letter of some sort. Their gazes both hit it at the same time, and Durdirith spoke first. "Are you some sort of herald?"

"Give it to me," she muttered. He did, grinning that awful grin at her. Oddly enough, she could not remember picking up a letter on her way out, and surely no one had given it to her. On the back of the letter, in shining black ink, read _Arwen_ in Tengwar. Maybe it had already been in there from some other time. "Hm."

Apparently Durdirith saw her name as well, for he asked her, "Or did someone hand you a letter as you were leaving?"

"I do not think so," she turned it over in her hands, sliding it open. It was written on a plain piece of parchment. When she unfolded it, the first words that she read were, _Do not let anything else read this letter_. She backed away from Durdirith, telling him, "It is a private matter."

Then she read it.

 _Do not let anything else read this letter._

 _Arwen, I do not know how to tell you what I need to. There is only a limited amount of time left for me. No knowledge is given to me of when you will receive this, and I hope that it will not be too late. You will meet an Elf from the mountains, if you have not already. Trust him, Arwen. Neither of can afford for the same mistakes to happen again. Please listen, and take caution. Twenty years and one day after you arrive at his home, at dawn, he will die. Do not let him tell you his name. I beg of you, Arwen, when he tries on the morning, do not let him. Shut him up, somehow, but whatever you do—do not let that word come out of his mouth. I pray with all of my heart, and yours, that it is not too late to save him._

 _Yours truly,_

 _The_ _Queen of Gondor_

Below that was another message, in a different style of handwriting:

 _Dearest friend,_

 _I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. I nearly swore an oath, but considering the irony that would have, I did not feel that it would help. This letter was written to you years ago, but for some reason it failed to send. Now I would gladly give my life to send this, for Eldarion had indicated that it might indeed be able to save you—and the important one, of course (not to offend you, Lady). Listen wisely._

 _Greenleaf_

What? Her brain could not process the information. Despite the fact of her not realizing her heritage, she knew a great many other things about Arda. Foremost, she knew that Gondor had no queen. That was not what startled her the most, either. These…people had been writing to her as if they had known her. She could not recall ever knowing anyone named Greenleaf—although she had heard it mentioned, if memory serves her correctly. And how did they know these things? How did they know that she would find Durdirith—or rather, that he would find her? How did they know that he would die? How could she know if it was true or not? It could not be, she told herself, because there were not many Elves with a gift of very talented foresight, and not even those could see exact things that would happen.

"Who is it from?" Durdirith startled Arwen from her thoughts.

She paused before answering, "I am not entirely sure." Gaping up at the ellon, she saw a defiantly raised eyebrow. "I do not! Truly."

"Love letter from an anonymous suitor?"

"I don't think I…" She trailed off, trying to wrap her head around the words she had just received. What could it have meant? Who were the people that had written it? There was only so much that…

And then it finally struck her. Did it mean that _Durdirith_ was going to die?


	6. Chapter 6

_"My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy." —William Shakespeare_

 **Author's Note: I'm so, so sorry! It's been forever! I'll just get to the chapter, it's about 100 words longer than normal. I apologize that it moves so fast, I'm just eager to get to the exciting parts. I feel like I did a terrible job, but here it is anyway:**

* * *

She was staring at the ceiling of the cave, her eyes open, but not finding anything in particular to focus on. The wind was roaring outside, she could hear it snapping away the frail branches of trees that had somehow found a way to live among the rocks. It was still dark out, and the silence was getting to her. With an inaudible sigh, she rolled over so that she was facing Durdirith. She studied his profile, wondering if he was conscious or not. It was early in the morning, but he was usually up before she was. Today, her mind was churning and she sick the tiniest bit sick—which was saying something, as Elves could not get sick. She could not think of any reason why this would be, for it seemed to her as any other day that she had experienced.

Silently, she sat up, reaching for her pack—she had somehow kept it intact all of these years. With her left hand she rummaged though its contents, not sure what she was looking for. All it took was the slight crinkle of parchment for her to know, and her heart to freeze. With a great amount of caution she slowly pulled it out, turning it over and over in fingers, unsure if she should open it. Nothing had happened on that day—she knew, because Durdirith was still Durdirith—but she still felt uneasy holding it. Over a millennium had passed since she had touched the letter. She did not know how many years had passed since whatever it had been was supposed to have happened, just that it had been more than two thousand. For some reason, she had never returned to Imladris, and she could not remember what it was, even if she pried her mind open with questions. It was her home, was it not?

 _But then why was she still here?_

The letter was instantly shoved back into her pack, and she reeled back, shocked by the thought. Rivendell _was_ her home, it was where she had been born, where she had grown up—and yet, she had grown up in and around this cave, with Durdirith. _Where was home_?

With a disgusted hiss, Arwen pushed herself up into a standing position and stalked to the edge of the cave, gazing out onto the rocky landscape of the Misty Mountains. The sun would be rising soon, she guessed, eyeing the wondrous world in front of her. She wondered what the day would bring, and what they would do. The strong gusts of wind brought with them the promise of snow later on, and she allowed a grin to slip into her lips.

"The view is nice, is it not?"

She no longer jumped when the Elf came up behind her, he did it every chance that he could. It had certainly taken a while to get used to. Laughing playfully, she whirled around and tilted her head, smirking. "I was up before you today."

Durdirith smirked back at her, replying, "And how many do you have left to catch up on?"

Huffing, she strode past him. "I will be sure count soon enough."

"Of course you will."

A pile of her clean clothes lay on the ground next to her sleeping area, and she shifted through them until she found something that she wished to wear for the day. Checking to make sure that Durdirith had gone outside as usual, she pulled her nightclothes off and shimmied into her day ones. Deciding not to do anything with her hair quite yet, she began to walk towards the entrance once again. A second before stepped out, Durdirith brushed in past her to do something—it was important, she hypothesized. After a few paces out in the wind, the same ellon came up from behind her and gripped her left forearm carefully.

He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "There's something out there."

Turning her head so that she could see his face, she questioned in the same tone, "What do you mean?"

His breath was warm on her cheek as he answered, "You will see," and then moved around her and pushed forward, pulling her with him. "Do not make noise."

She followed, unsure of what he meant.

Durdirith towed her silently down the narrow path that cut through the rocky terrain. With extreme curiosity, she watched him move, surprised—as always—at the agility that he had. He did not look like one of the more agile of the Elves, and yet the way he pushed himself across the ground always astounded her.

When a few minutes had passed, he pulled her into a cleft and inclined his head so that it was tilted towards the entryway. Neither of them made a sound, and Arwen's confusion filled up the small space. And the crevice _was_ drastically diminutive. Her back was pressed hard into the rock behind her, and her front was pressed hard into Durdirith—it excited her in a way that she knew she should not be excited. He did not seem to notice her jubilance, but maybe he was simply not bothered to show that he did. It mixed in with her confusion, and she curled her bare toes—and then cringed when they skimmed the rock.

This, Durdirith noticed. He leaned his head toward her and asked softly, "Is it to tight?"

"Nay, I scraped my foot," she replied in equal softness. A grin lit of her face as she continued, "What exactly are we doing?" Her body was touching parts of his that she had never touched on anyone and it was driving her insane.

He just shook his head, but she caught the ghost of a smile in his eyes. They flickered back towards the entrance, and Arwen nearly sighed with frustration. His lips parted, but before she could do anything about it, he said, "There's—"

The interruption was made by the sound of horses and voices. Durdirith tensed—she rolled her head backwards so that it collided—not hard—into the wall behind her. They stayed that way for a few moments before a voice called out, "Come out!" It was only when Durdirith slid out from in front of her that she processed what had been said. The two of them had spoken mostly Quenya, and as of now it came quicker to mind. Bracing a hand against the stone to keep her thoughts off the loss of contact, she followed the ellon out, and came face-to-face with another group of Elves.

Suddenly, she was self-conscious of the way her hair tangled loosely around her head, the way her clothing was wrinkled and ripped, and the way her bare feet dug into the rock to keep from careening face-down into the ground. The elleth guessed that it was because she not seen one other than Durdirith for quite some time, but somehow that did not feel right. It was only when she noticed the head of their group that she realized why.

It was her brother. Different, somehow, but by the Valar, it was her _brother_.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love." —Khalil Gibran_

 **Author's Note: If you look up the last word of this chapter, it will ruin the entire book for you. Don't. Do. It. Unless you like spoilers, of course. This chapter is dedicated to LadyLindariel (geez, I hope I spelled that right).**

 **I have a new Lord of the Rings fanfiction up, if you are interested! Hopefully, it will be nothing like this one, very upbeat and filled with humor. It's called Leitmotif, for anyone who would like to check it out. Feedback is always loved.**

She took a step forward, but then stopped herself from continuing forwards. Durdirith padded up to stand beside her, and touched her arm gently. In a hostile voice, her eldest brother demanded, "Who are you and why are you here?" His horse moved beneath him, and she could tell that it was wishing for a run.

Arwen caught a challenge in Durdirith's eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was disarmingly polite. "I am Durdirith and this is my half-sister, Hethu. We do not have a permanent home, we are but travelers looking and exploring." The lie was told so smoothly that she almost did not notice that he had claimed that she was his sister—half-sister, at that—and her 'name' was not exactly the most worshipping.

She knew that her brother would not buy it, and she knew that he would know that it was her. A small smile lit her mouth as she realized that she missed her family _so_ much. There was a deep ache inside of her that needed them, and she had not bothered to look at it until now. They would always be united, through wherever the came from.

And then he _did not_.

That ghost of a smile completely disappeared and she gaped at Elladan. He nodded curtly at the pair, "If you would allow us to take you to our haven, all are welcome to abide there, if they wish it." Something in his tone unnerved her, and she unconsciously leaned into Durdirith.

Elladan turned away and spoke to another Elf, and Arwen felt her defiance level rising. She was about to speak up when she felt something else writhe up inside of her. It wanted…to stay. To keep everything the same, to keep who she was to herself. Durdirith whispered softly to her, "They are not asking." When she gave him a sorrowful look, he added, "I would advice against letting anyone know who you are—although undoubtedly your family and friends will most likely recognize you at first sight."

She gave a short bark of laughter and told him, "That is my brother. He does not seem to remember me. Not one bit. Surely he should remember me?"

Durdirith studied Elladan, and then blinked. "Maybe he simply does not want to be to obvious."

"Darling," Arwen drawled, "he does not know who I am."

In that infuriating way, Durdirith raised his left eyebrow. "Darling?"

"Never mind!" She hissed, shoving at him. At the silence, she realized that the rest of the Elves were staring at the pair. "Just…do not make a big deal."

He nodded his head at the rest of the group, "And you are saying that _I_ am the one making a large deal out of this? For I recall laying down the request of you keeping silent."

With a huff, she spat back quietly, "Half-sister? I hope you realize that Elves do not _have_ half-sisters. There is one dam, one sire and that's it. No stepmother, stepfather, none of it. Only one instance in history I can ideate, and that did not turn out so well in the end. Elves. Do. Not. Have. Half. Sisters."

"My father did."

Silence greeted his words, and Arwen dropped her angry demeanor to blink curiously at him. "He did?"

Something sparked his Durdirith's eyes and he answered, "Yes." He turned away from her and back to the other Elves. "I beg you to abandon the discussion."

Elladan dismounted from his chestnut gelding—at least, Arwen assumed that it was a gelding, she was not very good at telling the gender of a horse without looking beneath—and strode towards the disheveled couple. He gazed at her for only a moment more than Durdirith, and her heart plummeted further. There was still the feeling of defiance running beneath her skin, but more than anything, she wanted the warmth of her family. Had she truly changed so much that her own brother did not recognize her?

When she left, she had been an Elfling looking to spend a day or so away from the stress of her family—and, as she had found out, her ignorance. Now, she was an Elleth that loved the wilds of the forests and the mountains. She doubted that she would ever be able to be kept inside for a prolonged period of time, not while she lived. And she certainly did not expect to die anytime soon. Without realizing it, she _had_ changed, and she was not sure if it was for the good or the worse. How would her family react when they figured out—and they _would_ figure out—who she was? Would they be angry with her? Would they be relieved? Would they be overcome with joy? They cared that she had gone, certainly, but how much? She was not insecure when it came to her parents or brothers, for she knew that they all loved her; but she was slightly concerned over whether they had thought that she would be alright on her own. Of course, _she_ knew that she could, but did they?

Throwing caution to the wind, she leaned over to Durdirith and whispered in his ear, "I am afraid."

He gave her a startled glance, and held out a hand to Elladan. "Pardon us for a moment," he told her brother, gently pulling her away. When they reached a distance that he deemed safe enough, he asked analytically, "Why are you afraid?"

"Per se, I am not afraid," she kept her voice low, eyeing the mounted Elves. "I simply do not know what to feel, and that it pushing me to be fearful. Pray tell me, what emotions should I harbor at this moment? Seeing my brother again, after everything that I have done? I do not believe that what I did was fallacious, but he could think differently. And how am I to know? I have not laid eyes on him for many years."

Nothing came out of his mouth. It was open, and Arwen thought that he was going to speak, but he did not. She gazed into his eyes, hoping that she might decipher their depths, and was surprised when they were honest. His face was open, and it showed her every emotion that was processing in his brain. There was everything and nothing all at once, all of him and none of him. At last, he choked out, "Ambarussa. Dear, sweet, Ambarussa."


End file.
